


Promises Kept

by Savageseraph



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Anger, Confusion, Elven Wine, M/M, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21913738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageseraph/pseuds/Savageseraph
Relationships: Bard the Bowman/Thranduil
Comments: 8
Kudos: 70
Collections: Lord of the Rings Secret Santa 2019





	Promises Kept

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nuinzilien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuinzilien/gifts).



Bard rubbed at his temples in a vain attempt to banish the pain that throbbed just behind his eyes. After days of fear and fire, destruction and death, being treated like he was beneath contempt by the newly minted King of Erebor made him want to scale the mountain with his bare hands and throttle Thorin. He frowned at his empty goblet of wine, then reached for the pitcher to refill it. When he took a sip, it tasted bitter. 

“Today was a disaster. A fucking disaster.” Anger caused the pain in his head to spike and the wine he’d already drunk to churn restlessly in his stomach. 

“He turned us away like beggars at the gates. Not friends, not allies.” Bard frowned as he remembered Thorin looking down on them from above the city’s great doors. His expression wasn’t just remote. No, it was openly disdainful and openly hostile. “Like we were nothing to him.”

“Did you honestly expect anything more?” Thranduil’s voice was cool as the ice covering a mountain lake and edged with amusement.

“Yes, I did.” He growled softly at the Elf lord’s question, annoyed at the implication he was naïve. “I smuggled him into Laketown. I brought him into my home.”

“And you expected him to act honorably? To repay hospitality in kind?” Thranduil tsked, brushed aside Bard’s words with an idle wave of his hand. “You give him and his kind too much credit by far.” 

Bard scowled into his wine. He didn’t just expect Thorin’s assistance. He needed it. More importantly, his people needed it. The winter wasn’t going to be kind to people who had lost their city to dragonfire. 

“Dwarves know no honor.” Thranduil sipped his own wine, watching Bard closely. “They are greedy and treacherous. They’re not to be trusted.”

“But the Elves are?” As soon as the words left his mouth, Bard wished he could call them back. If his people couldn’t find aid in Erebor, he might need Thranduil’s goodwill.

“I would say so.” Thranduil laughed softly, his gaze moving over Bard like he was trying to tease out any signs of weakness. “But I suspect you’d consider me somewhat biased.”

Bard drained his goblet. He needed to get out of this tent before he said—or did—anything else he might come to regret. “I should go. I’m certain I have overstayed my welcome. Though I appreciate your hospitality.” He stood and reached for the back of the chair to steady himself. 

Thranduil was at his side, an arm wrapping around his waist to steady him. “Ah, perhaps I should have mentioned that Men find my personal wine more heady than the vintages they are accustomed to.”

 _Too much._ It was all too much. The wine. His anger. The Elf lord’s secret smiles and the confusion it kindled in him. The soft brush of silken hair against his skin as Thranduil leaned closer had Bard’s eyes drifting half closed. The anger that had been coursing through his blood began to transform into something equally heady and equally dangerous. His mouth went dry as his breeches grew uncomfortably tight.

Soft laughter tickled against the side of Bard’s neck. “Do you know what I think?”

Because he didn’t trust his voice, Bard shook his head.

Lips brushed his ear as Thranduil murmured, “I think you’re considering all the delightful ways you might repay my hospitality.”

Truthfully, Bard hadn’t considered that, but now, it was all he could think about. How would the Elf lord taste? What sounds would he make when Bard nipped at sensitive spots hard enough to make him shiver and jerk? How delightfully tight would he be as Bard thrust into him?

Soft, warm lips grazed the side of Bard’s neck. They followed the path of the pulse beat hammering there. “You’re almost as intoxicating as the wine.” 

Bard tried to laugh off Thranduil’s words, but he could hear the strain reverberating in the sound. This was madness. It was wrong and dangerous on so many levels. However, while his brain urged him to get out, his body had other ideas. He cleared his throat. “I… I need to go.”

“You are a terrible liar.” Thranduil nuzzled his ear. “You want to stay.”

“I’m not.” Bard shook his head. “Not lying.” He swayed slightly as the ground felt like it was tilting under him. “I want… I need…”

“I know what you need.” Thranduil’s hand cupped and covered him just where his cock was straining against his breeches, and he couldn’t stop the instinctive movement to press into that touch. When he realized what he was doing, he tried to back up, but all that did was bring his body into contact with the Thranduil.

“Forgive me. I was wrong.” Thranduil held him against his body as he shifted his hips to rub against him. “You’re more intoxicating than the wine.”

Bard bit down on a moan as Thranduil unlaced his breeches and freed his cock. He let his head fall back against Thranduil’s shoulder as elegant fingers stroked him with practiced grace. Maybe it was the too-heady wine, maybe it was the fact that it had been a long while since he’d known a touch that wasn’t his own. Maybe it was because he just wanted to forget about the weight that fallen on him once he’d felled the dragon from the sky for a few hours. Or maybe it was all of those things tangled together in a knot of desperation and determination and desire that drove him to dive into the pleasure and release Thranduil promised. 

And Bard discovered, at least in this promise, the Elves were definitely to be trusted.


End file.
